


Complications

by sadclapz



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Blow Jobs, Eventual Romance, Friends With Benefits, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Making Out, Phase Two (Gorillaz), Rough Sex, Sort Of, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, idk what to tag anymore tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22993885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadclapz/pseuds/sadclapz
Summary: Their relationship is complicated- and those three words could make it worse.
Relationships: Murdoc Niccals & Stuart "2D" Pot, Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot
Comments: 8
Kudos: 170





	Complications

**Author's Note:**

> lmk why it took me so long to finish this ugh. I wanna get back into FINISHING writing again, so hope y'all enjoy this one!!

Murdoc wonders why they have to complicate what could be so easy.

His life is filled with the simplest pleasures; willing women, strong alcohol, and the hum of bass strings. All things easily acquired with fame and a sprinkle of charming rasp in his voice. Where _I’m Murdoc fucking Niccals_ is a good enough reason to get what he wanted.

However, when he finds himself somehow alone with _him_ \- cigarette pinched between enamel and copper glass bottles littering the floor- everything becomes so goddamn complicated. When cheeks glow pink, Murdoc resting an arm around his shoulder suddenly has to mean something. And that means Stu feels the need to shuffle closer, sneaking an exhale against his neck. The worst of it is he has to sit on the couch, that throne of their aggravation, and act like no one is testing his self-control.

How he makes him work for that satisfaction. Always having to initiate, while the other could just simply exist, looking pathetic as ever like catatonic déjà vu. It starts with a hand moving down a thigh and some kind of empty, nectarous promise. Each syllable in a low, rumbled whisper, like the purr of machine clutter in his ear. That’s when the brat has to stare with those black voids, and laugh out a puff of smoke in his face.

_Why should we? Because you’re Murdoc fucking Niccals?_

The quicker they both could satisfy whatever horrid, animalistic urges they had, the easier Murdoc’s life would be, but no- he has to drag it on with sarcastic remarks and a bothersome, slight moaning twang at the end of his sentences.

In a desperate attempt to stop complicating matters more, he clutches the blue laying tussled across the back of his neck with all the force aggression can create (the other gasps- with a smile). He decides to stop that smile with a sudden kiss. There is something different about this kiss compared to the others; it’s endless with depth, crushing like tidal waves, enticing him to wash away with it. Instead of fighting back with his original flirtations, he lets Murdoc take over, permission given as a tender whimper. Once again, the world rests in the center of his palm.

He grasps his hair harder, slithering a tongue across poking collar bones. Knife-pointed teeth nibble, pulling the flesh raw. Stu’s expression scrunches, wincing and writhing through the pain. Murdoc rolls his eyes, freeing his mouth and fisting the jagged locks.

“Suck it up, facefuck,” he growls. “You like when I rough you up.”

“I hate when you call me that.”

He laughs, alcohol bubbling up into his lungs. “Do you really? I find it rather fitting. Especially since last time.”

Patience hanging by a thread, Murdoc fights the urge to throw him to the hardwood floor and rip him atom by atom until he is a moaning mess of grey matter. To fuck all the color from his flushed skin. Instead, he remembers the power he holds over him, so painfully submissive. In that moment, a haste of knees dropping and drunk scurrying to the floor after the noise of a zipper, Murdoc paints the inner canvas of his mind through the intoxication. Every color splatters in perfect vision. Blue coated between his knuckles. Black lazily matches with his own eyes. Red for the tongue wrapping around. Staccato of white as he squints his eyes towards the ceiling. All encased within the pink glow of hallowing cheeks.

Hips buck shamelessly, all those colors blend into sinful neon. Stu fights for air in between frantic thrusts, salivating from the free corners of his mouth. Murdoc reaches to take hold on his cheek; with Stu flinching at the touch, waiting for the sting that never came. It’s an unexpected softness, even with the black nails scraping to nearly draw blood. _Of course_ it means something.

Maybe it’s a loving gesture; maybe it’s just to help guide his face away from his gums to his throat. Murdoc isn’t sure of that either, but he knows his euphoria is declining fast. Fast enough to collect some sense to stretch his other arm to the ashtray on the side table. Fingers tap around for a half-lit cigarette. His annoyance increases when he desperately tries to breathe the ghost of toxic air. All while Stu’s mouth and dented molars suck in clumsy panic.

That’s when he’s had enough, near ripping out every follicle as his mouth is freed with a pop. “Swear to Satan, faceache, if I feel that tooth gap one more fucking time-”

“Why don’t you just suck yourself off then?” he replies with poison clicking off his tongue, wiping his mouth.

“You wouldn’t have your share of fun in that, though, would you?”

Murdoc fishes a lighter from between the couch cushions, lighting it while the man below him tries to catch his breath. He’s glowing apple red, cheeks glistening with fresh dew, a lewd sparkle enticing him. Grey clouds his brain when he inhales again, craning his neck back up to the ceiling. The pulsing inside him begins to subside, twitching back to a reality drowning in alcohol. Eyes lidded, he glances back down to take in the azure view, hoping to go unnoticed. A panting paradise. He twitches once more.

“I might,” he giggles in a drunken daze. “Try it, I’ll get an extra kick out of it if you break a rib or two.”

Murdoc lets the cigarette hang out of his mouth. “For such hateful words, you got on your knees awfully quick, D.”

He predicts their playtime is over until a body climbs over his limbs, resting upon his lap. Stu snatches the cigarette from his lips to his own. It was most definitely his in the first place. There is a hazy seduction in the way he grabs ahold of his chin, forcing his mouth open to blow the smoke back in. A tongue skims burning hot on his, tasting the ash and bitter sweetness of drink, melting together in desperation. The cigarette is tossed into the unknown and neither of them cared, not while they are pressed so tightly together with sticking want.

Stu doesn’t like that there isn’t one spot of red on the other’s skin. His head buried under his jaw, tongue travelling across his sickening shade of flesh. He’s so sweet in his movements, hands ghosting the body beneath him like touching the finest china. Kisses flutter like butterfly wings. The warmth from his face ignites another fire within him; it’s searing to burn, agonizingly tender with the prick of skin. However, it’s not enough. There is a sizzle, a blaze, and once more, a tug at blue. His kisses acidify to bites, nails leaving crescents underneath his shirt. His teeth are still so gentle, Murdoc holds back a smirk.

“You wanna stop toying with me and get back on your fucking knees?” he groans, pulling harder again until his canine sink deep.

He admires his lover’s new marks, a needy signature signed with crimson, with a slow swirl of his tongue. “Not really.”

 _The absolute brat._ Ripping him away from hid neck, he pulls his face to meet his. Naïve with a glint of fear in the reflecting black. He almost wants to end their forbidden escapade, knock him out, make the kind of bruises he doesn’t want. Deciding to get this over with so that time spent looking at his _pathetic_ face is cut short, he bites down on Stu’s lobe before asking him the question he’s been silently begging for.

“What do you want, then? Tell me before I change my mind.”

“Jesus, Mudz,” he moaned, grinding against him. “I just want you to fuck me.”

Murdoc laughed, very slightly pulling at the waistband of the other’s shorts. Stu squirmed, expression growing limp with every touch.

“What’s the magic word?”

Stu hated the power he has over him when they were like this, in each other’s intoxicated hold. Well, he definitely loves it in a sense, craving it secretly. On stage, seeing the light glimmer off his sweat while he strums away at his bass. In this same room, however with all their clothes still on, and he is chewing at the end of a pencil eraser for lyrical inspiration. Even when he doesn’t see him in physical form, thinking about the possibilities of what he could be dreaming at night. What were his last thoughts, swept away by slumber? Were they of him? What kind of thoughts; platonic, disgusted, perverted? Did he react on those thoughts? Has he ever… touched himself to the thought, just as he did?

Is that why they do this so often? No, it must be more complicated than that.

“Out with it, faceache,” he pries again, hand freezing. “You know how much I like a lil’ begging.”

Stu sighs, all though not completely of pleasure (he is tired of this- every time). “Please… please, fuck me. I’ll do anything, just-”

Murdoc pushes him off his body, the pulling feeling in the other’s loins halting with haste. “Go get the lube, then. You know where it is.”

Unsure of when, he knows he will get him back for this treatment. He curses while searching around the room, deciding to be obedient this time. Any fighting back at this point could be a death wish by the hand of a man with a price on his soul.

Stu sinks back onto his lap, hovering over him with the bottle in hand. He plans the scene; he’ll lather his fingers in slick generosity, wrapping them around, slow precision from the base to tip. He’ll watch his face melt from the seductive dexterity. Until he’s close, exasperating until he sees a false heaven, begging for salvation under his lover.

That is, if he could open the tab first.

“Sticking my cock in a garbage disposal would get me off faster than this,” Murdoc says, snatching the bottle and aching against his own stomach. “A toddler could open this quicker.”

“You know, if you’re really so against this, maybe you should go ahead and take care of that,” Stu snaps back.

He swears, for just a moment, a forlorn smile hangs off his verdant jaws. And that is completely replaced with a guttural laugh, tongue sliding across his teeth. “Just trying to play a role here, faceache. Now, relax and let me fuck you, m’kay?”

Neither of them know for sure what kind of role he wants to fulfill. It’s as if there was an attempt to be romantic, yet slathered in vulgarity he can’t form a sentence without. His voice is soft, but his words still sting. How complicated it is to love such a vile creature.

Before Stu has time to wonder why in the whole damned world does he want this man so bad, a familiar force plunges within him, overcome with immediate panic. It’s the kind of panic he desires every night from him, the kind that settles like sparks of flame within his loins. It’s a slow pace, enough for him to cling to the other, moans tangle with suppressed grunting. Murdoc tries to keep his composure, but the tightness around him causes the warmest euphoria.

Stu basks in the slowness like morning sunlight, trapping Murdoc’s shoulders beneath his arms. Part of him desires to keep this speed for the rest of time, touching until he can memorize each detail of textured imperfection on his flesh. His face is pulled away from the crook of his neck to meet with his. Their eyes meet, swallowed by their gazes as if this was their first time. Murdoc’s eyes usually intimidate him to crawl back into hiding, afraid of where on his body he’ll punch, kick, or scratch next. This time, he swears there is a kinder aura to them. He loses himself, his lips curving with sweetness before kissing him again. The kiss is quick, confusing the other, before smiling back.

Of course, he loses himself in the most crucial moment- where deep within, he knows romance is scarce.

“Murdoc, I lo-”

It’s his turn to panic. Hips come to a halt once Stu covers his mouth and flushing red cheeks. _Not this shit_. Murdoc freezes, unable to process the prediction of that finished sentence. He avoids his gaze, staring at the hickeys he left earlier. Things were much simpler before he opened his mouth. Or were they? He isn’t sure of that anymore.

Stu hoists himself up, the other slipping out from inside him. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, just a slip of the tongue. Just forget that even-”

Interrupted by calloused hands at his waist, his body is slammed back onto him with more vigor than pervious. He moans at an embarrassing volume, forced to adapt to such a sudden pace. Murdoc buries his nails into his hips while sucking at his neck again, wanting nothing but to hear the quake in his voice. Feel the shiver in his bones. Fuck him with animalistic need until he sees stars, streams of warm galaxy trickling from his fluttering lashes. He wants to tell him to make more sounds, ask _who’s fucking you right now_ , listen to the melody-gifted rambling that stumbles from his open mouth. However, afraid of how words almost killed the entire evening, he focuses on the depth of his thrusts in hyperventilating silence.

And it’s a last gasp for air that exhales to sweet song that pushes him to the edge. He detaches his mouth to lean back, guiding Stu’s hips to roll with his slowly. He catches a glimpse of him smiling, brows angled and exasperating. Did he do that on purpose, so he could get exactly what he wanted? That’s his last record of thought, which he has no answer for anyway. There is a guttural suppression in his voice as he fucks him one last time. He holds position, nails digging into the small of his back enough to draw bleeding beads, taking in every last detail of the man as bliss overtakes. If this is what true, sweet heaven felt like, then he would take his soul back any day now.

Murdoc slows his thrusting as he reaches back down to earth, eyes closed and head resting on the wall behind. Immediately after pulling out, he hears breathing hitch, reacting with a look to the glistening scene still on top of him. Stu is wincing, back arched in lascivious curve, stroking himself with frantic haste.

This is usually about the time Murdoc forces him off, leaving the other to take care of himself in solitude. He’s not sure why it’s different this time.

He grabs his wrist, pulling it away to replace with his own hand. Stu is shocked, at least until he realizes how much better it feels than his own. Moans and whines and whimpers and all the pretty noises are muffled against his lips, bucking into his hand until vision blurs. With no breath left in his lungs, he collapses against Murdoc’s skin, calming from the crescendo in his libido. He peels off his body, limping to the clothes strewn to the floor with the beer bottles. He stays silent with his recovering breathing.

Murdoc wishes he would finish the sentence from earlier. Just to see how it rolled off his tongue.

Once all silence is burned through and their clothes are back on, Stu sticks his cigarette from the ashtray between the gap of his teeth, heading towards the door. Even after the orgasm is reciprocated, he expects this is no less than the usual, to shy back to his room alone while wishing for things that never came. To stay in his arms just a bit longer, hold his fragile bones, kiss the bruises, all in their own world. He shrugs off those thoughts- at least, he tries to.

“Wait, D,” Murdoc interrupts, already missing his touch. “I know it’s a bit of a… contrast to… other times, but I’m not _completely_ opposed to you staying.”

“You want me to stay? You okay, Mudz? Hit your head on the wall too much?” he asks with doe eyes.

He pinches his temple, cringing at his innocence. “Don’t get any ideas! I just wanted to stay on this couch for a while, and by myself it’s just… too cold, you know? That’s the only reason why. You know I hate being cold.”

“Haven’t I already warmed you up a bit?”

That damn grin. Toothless, teasing, and hiding his pure excitement.

“Just get back here, you sodding idiot, before I _actually_ hurt you.”

Maybe this time truly is different. Maybe next time will prove the same. Maybe he’ll get to finish that sentence. They both know how complicated the situation is- maybe next time, they’ll make it easier.


End file.
